Serendipity
by spiderks
Summary: serendipity an unplanned, fortunate discovery - After the Losers' Club move away, 16-year-old Richie Tozier is left in Derry alone. But when a miracle disguised as a curse falls upon him, he learns to find happiness again.
1. Chapter 1

It was bittersweet, he thought. Richie peddled faster as he rode his bike down the street. He was wearing a white button-down shirt and dress pants. He pinned a blue and green bow tie on. His life had changed. His days were quiet. Without the other losers, Bowers and his gang didn't find joy in fucking around with him. Richie walked through the halls of his school like a ghost with a fake smile plastered on his face. He threw quips here and there to people who he rarely talked to but knew. He still managed to keep up the long-lasting banter with his teachers, but even he had to admit that his jokes were getting dry and old. Jesus, he had to reuse half of them because his creativity was running low! It didn't matter since it was his last day in Derry.

As he passed Bill's house, he allowed himself to recall the memories of his friends' departure. Eddie was the first to leave, Ms. K practically having an aneurysm after seeing him hurt again. They moved to Michigan with the other Kaspbraks. It was Eddie leaving that broke Richie. Richie liked Eddie. He really liked Eddie. He still does. He likes him in a way that others wouldn't approve up. Richie misses the way Eddie would flick him off, the words Beep Beep and his name echoing in his mind. Richie misses the way Eddie would snap at him for helping him reach things on the top shelf. Richie misses the way the boy would sigh when he ran his fingers through his soft hair.

He misses when he would walk Eddie home instead of riding his bike when the weather was nice or the way Eddie would tease him about his wacky outfits that would change depending on the season. He misses when Eddie would clap and cheer for Richie after convincing him to sing a song. He misses the way Eddie would kiss him. "You are more likely to pass germs through a handshake rather than a kiss," he said, pink tinting his cheeks.

He misses Eddie and it hurt.

It doesn't matter anymore. Eddie's gone and there's no point in finding a boyfriend if they're not a spaghetti headed asshole who carries an asthma pump around as if he needs it. He should just give it to me, Richie thought. I can barely breathe when I think of him.

After Eddie left, his friends made sure to never leave him alone. They lifted his spirits, distracted him from the boy with soft hands and tiny shorts, even when they missed Eddie too. But then Mike left, the strongest of them all, quiet yet tough. His family moved back to the south where there were much better farms and hopefully less racism. Ben had grown rather close to him, closer than the rest did, and though he was probably hurt the most, he and Bill still managed to keep the small group of five together, that was until Bill had to leave too. To Oregon, they said. New opportunities, they said. "They're acting like Georgie never existed, as if I can just leave him here in Derry," Bill shouted, throwing a rock into the stream.

Bill, their fearless and brave leader, who was there from the beginning, who always managed to keep the Losers in check, was gone. "What's the point?" Beverly had asked, "They're all gone." Ben looked away with a frown. He had always wanted friends and when he finally got them, they started slipping away, one by one.

Beverly moved to live with her aunt to Arizona and Ben must have expected, must have mourned the loss of a friend before they were even gone because he was already packing and leaving with his mom to New York.

"And then there were two," Richie muttered with a wispy grin. Stanley chuckled and shook his head. "It's fine, they weren't giving it to me good anyway."

"Beep Beep, Trash-mouth."

Richie and Stanley had known each other their whole lives. Stan was there when Richie's dad suddenly dropped doing impressions with his son for drinking. Richie was there when Stan was hung from the flagpole, pants down, nose bleeding, and crying from being called Abbie. Stan was there when Richie's father beat his mother and Richie was too scared to move, too petrified. Richie was there when Stan had a panic attack, heart beating out of his chest and overwhelmed by the pressure of his parents.

So it hurt when Stanley left. It hurt to hear the apologies Stanley sent to him when it was almost effortless for Richie to send them back. Stanley would be around the entirety of his Jewish family. More pressure would fall on his shoulders including the nightmares of that summer none of them spoke of. It didn't matter that Richie hated being alone. Stanley was the only thing he had left and he was gone. Richie walked home that night, not feeling well enough to ride his bike, feeling like he would accidentally crash into something. He went to his house, walking over broken glass, the crunching sound muffled by his sobs. His parents were passed out on the couch, bottles of cheap beer scattered along the room. In two years, his life had fallen apart, but he'd knew he'd never forget the Losers because he hated being forgotten himself (a missing poster with his face appeared in his head). Plus, he didn't think he could ever forget them. They were his best friends, always will be. The day each of them left, Richie told them he loved them and he meant it. Hopefully, it was enough to make them remember him.

-

And so another year passed. Richie's life flew by in a blur of hiding in his room, swinging his feet over a cliff, and badly told jokes with no heart behind it. It was all the same. Until Halloween.

His parents had made sure the lights were off so no one would knock for candy. Cheesy horror movies played on the TV. Richie planned on calling Eddie like he did almost every day. He didn't do anything else with his time. He was just walking down the stairs when he was startled by the sound of glass shattering. He heard his mother scream and someone being thrown into a wall, the thump it made the same sound as a body slapping against the bottom of a well.

Richie's hands were shaking, his thoughts running a mile a minute and yet he couldn't move. His father had never hit his mom before nor did he hit Richie.

He's going to kill her.

He's going to kill her.

He's going to kill her.

He took a tentative step down the stairs. He saw his mother slumped against the wall, a trail of blood behind her head. His father had downed the last of his beer before tossing it towards his mother. Richie flinched at the sound it made and was glad his father's aim was off since it didn't hit his mother.

Richie was on the last step when his father decided he wasn't done with his mom. He gripped her by the hair, growled words in her ears that Richie didn't hear. He punched her over and over again, ignoring her cries and groans.

Richie had to do something, he wouldn't stand there, he couldn't stand there and not do anything. His father kept a shotgun in the trunk of his car. Richie knew how to use it, but he never thought he had to. He also never thought it was his father he had to shoot at. While his father was distracted, he made his way to the door, grabbing his father's keys from the poorly-hung hook. Richie took a deep breath before a burst of adrenaline hit him and suddenly the door was wide open and he was running out into the chilly Halloween night.

"Help! Help! He's trying to kill her! He's gonna kill my mom!" Richie cried, startling the trick-or-treaters. Some kids jumped, others shook their heads, amused at the antics teenagers would play just to get scares.

Richie sped towards the beat-up car in the driveway and quickly unlocked the car before popping the trunk. The gun sat cold and unbothered and Richie grabbed it with a second thought. As Richie pumped the shotgun, a mother caught sight of it. She shook her head, thinking it was a fake until a spent shell fell from it. She gripped her daughter's hand and shouted.

"He's got a gun!"

"Call 911!"

Richie ignored the shouts and made his way up the driveway. His neighbor, an old man with a stick up his ass, stepped in front of Richie. Richie repeated his statement from earlier, that his father was trying to kill his mother. The old man gazed at the boy with understanding eyes.

"You better know how to work that thing, boy," was all he said before ushering the bystanders away.

Richie went back into the house, shaking from the adrenaline pumping through his veins. But he couldn't waver, not now, not while his mother needed him like she never did before. His father sat on the floor, his mother lying in his lap. She didn't move. Her eyes were closed. Her cheeks were wet, but they weren't her tears. His father let out a wail.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

Richie dropped his gun, the sound grabbing his father's attention. His dad couldn't look him in the eye. He was ashamed, Richie could tell. But it didn't matter. It was done.

The sound of sirens and flashes of red and blue. Hands on him. Cuffs on his father. A white sheet over a body. A cold office. Questions he couldn't answer. Newspapers with his face on it. Dead. Dead. Dead.

And then he was being told he was going to stay with his mother's brother, the closest family he had. A Ted Wheeler who was married with three kids in Hawkins, Indiana. Richie didn't know how to feel. His dad killed his mom and now he was moving to live with his uncle who he hadn't seen since he was five years old.

And now he was riding his bike home from his mother's funeral which was on this cold day, November 4, a Sunday (his mother hated Sundays). The social worker watched him leave but didn't stop him. Richie was thankful. He needed space after being surrounded by people that didn't even care for his mother or him. Henry Bowers and his father patted him on the shoulder. "I'm, I'm sorry, Four-eyes," Henry had said when his dad stepped away. He looked at Richie and somehow it was the most understanding apology he had gotten. Richie knew Henry had experience with alcoholic dads and losing a mother. He tried not to feel bad. His teachers were there and Richie didn't have a hard time stuffing his jokes down his throat. Random people that saw Maggie Tozier in the store popped by. A ton of people from town, mostly men. No family members. No friends. No one who cared. His mother wasn't a bad person, but she only really cared about getting attention from men. He knew his mom cheated on his dad regularly. Richie didn't say anything. He wondered if his father would've killed her earlier if he had said something before.

Richie decided to go to the hideout. It was his last day of freedom, of being in Derry, and he wanted to spend it in a place where he was familiar with. Not his house that was never warm, but the place where all of his friends hung out. He took out a photo with him and the Losers years ago when they were all together. Looking at the photo, he could hear echoes of Bill's laughter, Stanley rolling his eyes, Ben shaking his head, Mike smirking in a bashful manner, Beverly beaming in the sunlight, and Eddie. Eddie ranting, scolding, giggling and smiling.

Richie climbed down the rusty latter into the underground fort, grabbed his shower cap, and took a seat on the hammock. He let out a long, tired sigh, and wept. He cried until he was dry of tears and rubbed his eyes until they were red. It was nighttime now. He should head to the train station where his social worker was and where he could call Eddie. It took a minute or two for Richie to stand up, stuff his shower cap in the box, leave the happiest place he had ever known, and get on his bike. He looked back at the place he had always known, that had been empty for so long. He tucked the photo into his pocket before peddling to the station.

When Richie arrived at the station, his social worker was standing by a bench, arms crossed with bags of luggage piled around her. A flash of annoyance crossed her face when she saw him and she drew her painted red lips into a sneer.

"You're late," Wanda stated simply.

"I'm sorry." Richie didn't mean it and he knew she could tell.

"It doesn't matter. You don't have enough time to call your friend, you'll have to wait." She turned around, the sound of the train's whistle drawing her attention. Richie fumed silently, his hands balling into fists. Richie had no one to blame but himself, but it was easier to be mad at his asshole social worker, Wanda.

Wanda picked up her bag and boarded the train, leaving Richie behind. He didn't have a lot of stuff, only a suitcase, and his backpack. He gathered his things and boarded the train and didn't look back as he left Derry behind and with it his once-decent-turned-shitty father, assholes who bullied the crap outta him, (a clown with a smile coated with blood). He held onto the good things, even though the good things were gone, dispersed across the country. The weight of the photo in his pocket was heavy as he looked out of the window of the train. He took out a book to distract himself, More Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. It was not long after it was released on Halloween when Richie was making his way through the town, trying to find something that would take his mind off of things. He walked into random shops, looking at shirts and knickknacks before walking into the bookstore. There was one last copy of More Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. The man at the register took one look at him and one look at his newspaper before letting him have it for free.

It would be November 6, a Tuesday, when they would make it to his uncle's house. They would show up at around four in the morning. Richie was nervous. He barely remembered his uncle. He could remember calling him Uncle T and a dry, uninterested voice. He did remember a day where his uncle and dad took him out into the driveway where his father hefted Richie onto his shoulders so he could throw a dirty basketball into a rickety hoop. He could also remember a two-year-old boy that he called Mikey jumping around with a six-year-old girl that Richie called Nancy Drew. They sat in the grass with a lady who had toffee brown hair and chocolate eyes. Beside her was a lady with brown sugar hair and cocoa eyes, his mother. They sat eating sandwiches, giggling under the sun. Nancy didn't like him very much, he could definitely remember that.

They would be older now, of course. He thinks Mikey would be thirteen and Nancy seventeen. He didn't know anything about the third child. Richie wondered if he would have a room of his own and if it would be bigger than the one in his old house. He wondered what they did on the weekends and if they ate dinner like Bill's parents did, together. He wondered what school would be like, if his teachers would hate him immediately or if they were more patient than his old ones.

Richie wondered a lot of things until he fell asleep, his head leaning against the window and his book wide open in his lap. Wanda looked up from her own book. The boy across from her was tall and lean, yet slightly muscular. Wanda decided it was because of him riding around on his bike and playing in the woods for so long. She knew about Richie, heard about his father being an alcoholic. She wanted to help earlier, but without any solid proof, she couldn't do anything. It was the same for the Bowers kid with his father being the sheriff.

Wanda knew she could be rude sometimes. Her mother was a social worker so she became a social worker even though she wanted to be an author. It made her cranky that she had to do something she had never wanted to, but she also felt glad that she was helping these kids. Wanda could tell Richie had been through something much worse than an asshole, murderer father and a dead mother.

Wanda took out her journal and ripped a page out. She scribbled something on the page with a pen before folding it and sliding it into Richie's book as a makeshift bookmark. She closed the book and tucked it in his backpack. She knew it wasn't a lot, but she felt satisfied enough to fall asleep.

-

Hawkins was almost exactly like Derry, except more lively and yet fake at the same time. There were cookie-cutter houses and friendly people waving on the streets. There was absolutely nothing wrong with this town and Richie hated it immediately.

"Hey, can you drop us off at that store right there?" Wanda pointed at the subject of her question. The cab driver rolled his eyes but did as he was asked. Richie decided the cab driver was his favorite person in town.

When it was time for them to get out of the cab, Richie dug into his pockets for anything that resembled a dollar. Wanda got out of the cab after paying and as she got the luggage from the trunk of the car, the boy slapped the item onto the driver's hand.

"Keep the change." Richie sniggered with a grin. He left the car in a hurry, eyes shining in amusement as he listened to the man's protest.

"This is a candy wrapper!" The driver yelled. Wanda rolled her eyes and pushed Richie's bags into his arms.

"Causing trouble already? Halloween was over like a week ago." Wanda stated.

"Well, it's not like I got to enjoy my Halloween."

Wanda's scowl morphed into a frown. "Richie, you know I didn't mean it that way." She stammered. Her eyebrows curled with sympathy and regret. Richie looked away.

"I know." He mumbled. He dropped his head, making his curls fall into his face, something he did when he was sad, embarrassed, or shy which the last two were rare.

"Should we...?" Richie gestured towards the store, trying to break the awkward tension between them. Wanda gulped and nodded, remembering why they were at the store in the first place. It was a long train and car ride. Richie had gotten restless not too long into the trip, but he managed to stay in his seat the entire time. The food they ate throughout the trip was bland and Richie barely ate any of it.

As soon as they entered the store, they were greeted by a woman at the counter. Richie ignored her in favor of the snacks in the back of the store. He made a beeline for the Jell-O Pudding Pops, grabbing a box of the chocolate-flavored treats. He opened the box and grabbed one of the snacks before tearing off the wrapper and taking a large bite out of it. As he walked to the front where Wanda stood talking to the lady at the counter, he sucked in his cheeks and tried to get used to the coldness of the treat.

"If we took a holiday."

"Hey!"

"Took some time to celebrate."

"Hey, kid!"

"Just one day out of life."

"Kid! I'm talking to you!"

"It would be—"

"HEY!"

"It would be so nice!"

Suddenly, Richie was yanked by the shoulder, his pudding pop falling to the floor. He swallowed his fear, the weight of a large hand on his shoulder. For a second he had thought his father had found him, that he was here to take him back to Derry where no one cared about Richie.

"Hey, kid? You listening to me?" Richie snapped his head forward. A man, a police chief from what his badge said, stood in front of him. He retracted his hand from Richie's shoulder and hooked his fingers on his belt loops, showing off the gun that sat unbothered in its holster. (The image of a captive bolt pistol in the hand of a dark-skinned boy appeared in his head.)

"You gonna pay for that?" The chief asked, his eyes hardening as he gazed at Richie. Richie gripped the box of pops tightly. The one he dropped was melting, brown sludge surrounding his sneakers. The chief raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, my sugar mama's buying it for me."

The chief blinked and found himself dumbfounded. "I'm sorry, sugar mama?"

"Yeah, she's over there." Richie pointed at Wanda who was still talking to the lady at the counter. The chief stared sat Wanda, his confusion growing by the second. He frowned and turned back to Richie. "Kid, how old are you?"

"16, why?" Richie answered, unwrapping another pop.

"And you said she's your sugar mama?" He pressed on. Richie nodded offhandedly, taking a bite out of his snack. Richie was startled when the chief grabbed his arm, dragging him to the front of the store and grabbing Wanda and her new friend's attention.

"What kind of sick human being are you?!"

Wanda furrowed her eyebrows, taken aback by the chief's statement. The lady behind her gasped, "Hopper!" 'Hopper' tightened his grip on Richie's arm, jerking the boy behind his large frame. Richie took a bite out of his pop, enthralled by the scene in front of him.

"No, Joyce. This lady is a predator!" Hopper exclaimed. The lady, apparently 'Joyce', widened her eyes. She glanced at Wanda, who was spluttering madly, and somehow her eyes seemed to widen even more.

"What in God's name are you talking about, Hop?" She questioned, crossing her arms. Hopper, red-faced and angry, just shouted. Richie saw an old woman stop in front of the store's windows, gazing inside and perplexed. Richie, giddy from the hysteria he caused, decided to have more fun. He made his already huge eyes wider behind his bug-eyed frames and pouted his lips. He bit the inside of his cheek. The pain caused tears to well up in his eyes. The old woman placed a hand over her heart, a wave of pity washing over her face. Richie knew he had succeeded in looking like the perfect kicked puppy.

Wanda ignored Hopper's shouts and watched Richie. She knew he had done something. She could practically smell the mischief on him like cologne. She made sure her voice was loud and sharp enough to cut through Hopper's and halt him from speaking.

"What did you tell him?"

Silence.

"Richie, what did you do?"

"Nothing, Mommy— I mean, Ms. Wanda. I swear!"

Wanda blinked. Was this because of the loss of his mother? Did he get attached to Wanda that easily? Does he see her as a mother figure?

"Hear that, Joyce? He called her mommy!"

"Hopper, what the hell are you–"

"She's his Sugar Mama!"

Joyce closed her mouth and raised her eyebrows. Hopper let out a breath, his face still red from all the yelling. Richie bit his lip to stifle his laughter at Wanda's face.

"Excuse me, but I am not his 'Sugar Mama!'" She exclaimed. She glared at Richie, "I'm his social worker and right now, we are leaving." She stated firmly. She reached for Richie's arm, grasping it and pulling him towards her.

Richie pouted, "You are such a buzzkill, Witchy Wanda."

Hopper spluttered, "Social Worker? Will someone please tell me what the hell is happening?"

"You were pranked, Donut Man," Richie said slowly as if he were talking to a child, "Tricked, punked, whatever you wanna call it!"

"Wha?" Richie giggled at the chief's face.

"Richie! We've been in Hawkins for no more than an hour and you've already found a way to cause trouble! I cannot believe—" Wanda's voice trailed off as she dragged the teenage boy out of the store. Hopper and Joyce stood flabbergasted.

"What just happened?"

Joyce allowed a grin to grow on her face, "You were pranked, Donut Man. Tricked, punked, whatever you wanna call it!"

Hopper was unimpressed.


	2. Chapter 2

"Come on, Richie!" Wanda dragged Richie down the sidewalk. Richie didn't even think Wanda knew where she was going. She had stomped off with him in tow after the whole "Sugar Mama" incident that Richie was pretty proud of. Wanda? Not so much. She hadn't even stopped for directions before taking off in a random direction. Now, he was pretty sure they were lost. Richie contemplated saying something or keeping his trap shut. He took a look at Wanda with her pinched up face and scowl. If he concentrated enough, he could see the leather on the handle of her bag begin to tear because of the tight grip she had on it. He quickly decided that the latter was the best choice. He had already caused enough trouble for the day and was quite tired so he didn't protest. But, it didn't mean that he couldn't argue.

"It was just a prank! A meaningless joke! Why do you have to take it so seriously? You'll never see me again anyway." Richie groaned and grumbled. He yanked his arm away from Wanda and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Wanda paused. She picked her next words carefully. "Is that what you want to be known as here? The one and only Trash Mouth Tozier," she spread her arms and made sarcastic jazz hands, her bags jiggling from the movement, "Is that what you want for your family–"

"I don't have a family!" Richie shouted. Wanda stopped walking. Richie cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the tightness in his throat. "The only family I have are spread across the fucking country. And I'm not changing myself just to-to impress some people I haven't seen since I was a kid!"

Wanda didn't say anything. She gripped the handles of her bags tighter and continued walking down the sidewalk. "Come on. We've arrived earlier than expected. They're probably having dinner right now."

Richie wiped his hand over his face and sniffed. Even though he knew she didn't mean to, and even though she was probably right, Wanda had made him feel like an asshole. He had a reason for pulling pranks and shit. He just didn't do it for fun. Okay, maybe 50% of the reason he did it was for fun. The truth was, Richie pulled pranks and told jokes to avoid being forgotten. Years of having his parents ignore him eventually led to him gaining that fear.

They had eventually stopped at a bus stop where Wanda dropped her bags and began to count coins in her wallet. Richie hung his head, looking at the gum stained concrete below him. He gazed at his shoes as he scuffed the heel of his left shoe against a rock. His shoes were old and dirty. Richie's mom had bought them from a thrift shop for five bucks. He had them for over a year now, but he wouldn't get rid of them until his toes were bursting through the tips. He averted his eyes to Wanda's heels. They were nice and clean, without a scratch. The boy sitting on the bench wore the newly released Converse's. Richie looked back at his own shoes and noticed how much they stood out from the rest. Richie lowered his head until his chin was touching his chest. He vaguely heard Wanda call his name and followed behind her neat shoes onto the bus.

They took a seat towards the middle of the bus near two teenagers that looked a little younger than Richie. Richie sat in front of the two, leaving Wanda to sit directly beside them as it was the only seat left. The two boys curiously gazed at Richie. Hawkins rarely received new people, especially teenagers that looked oddly familiar. They decided to ignore the boy in favor of the lady. Richie watched as their eyes lowered from Wanda's face to her chest. They looked at each other appreciatively. Richie flared his nostrils, something he did when he was angry or annoyed. He looked down at their shoes. They were clean and new which probably meant they were rich and spoiled and thought they could get away with anything. Richie whistled innocently, though his eyes shined dangerously. He gained the attention of the two boys and held eye contact with them until they started to squirm.

"You got a problem?" One of them asked. Richie shook his head.

"Nope." He said, popping the 'p.' Wanda glanced at Richie, squinted her eyes, and looked away.

"Well, it seems like you do since you keep looking at us like we're freaks or something." The other boy said, glaring at Richie.

"Well, it's just..." Richie shook his head, "Nevermind, it's nothing."

"No, no, please tell us." He urged.

"Yeah, share with the class, why don't you."

Richie inhaled and let out a huge sigh. "I just couldn't help but notice that your heads are abnormally large," Richie stated plainly. Wanda snapped her head towards him.

"Richie!" She whispered harshly as the two boys scowled at him. "Apologize! They did nothing to you." Richie sighed mockingly, "Fine. I'm sorry..."

The boys didn't say anything. They just leaned back in their chairs.

"...that you two have colossal domes."

"That's enough!" Wanda exclaimed. She gripped Richie's arm for the tenth time that day. "Come on this is our stop." She completely ignored the boys, gathered her things, and walked straight past them. Richie made sure he flipped the boys off before getting off the bus, gaining disapproving looks from some (a lot) of people.

The two walked down the sidewalk, an awkward silence surrounding them. Wanda walked with quick and precise steps while Richie stumbled behind her. The houses were all two-story and fetching, the definition of cookie-cutter. The lawns were perfectly cut and the mailboxes were clean which was the exact opposite of Richie's in Derry. His lawn was always littered with trash, mostly beer cans. And his mailbox was vandalized with words that would surely make his uncle's family blush. Richie cleared his throat, desperately trying to get rid of the thought of his house in Derry.

"They didn't do anything to me," Richie said. Wanda didn't turn around, but she did hum in acknowledgment. "Those boys on the bus, they did nothing to me."

Wanda shook her head, "And yet you insult them as if they did."

Richie gulped. "Because they were staring at your tits." He said all in one breath. This time, Wanda did turn around. She blinked, "What?"

Richie repeated himself and dropped his head. "Oh," Wanda cleared her throat, "Thank you." Richie nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground. They continued walking, but the awkwardness that was present before was gone. They soon arrived in front of a house identical to all the others.

"You ready?" Wanda asked. Richie let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in.

"Sure, if you can count ready as having sweaty palms," Richie replied as Wanda chuckled. Richie actually didn't notice how nervous he was until now.

"Everything's going to be okay," Wanda said softly. Richie smiled as she flicked her head towards the door. They began walking to the door and Wanda glanced at Richie before ringing the doorbell. As the sound of footsteps became louder, Richie's anxiety grew. The door opened revealing his aunt who gained only a few laugh lines over the years.

"Richard! Oh, you've grown so much," Richie felt his cheeks grow warm even though he had no clue why. "Look how tall you've gotten! Come in, come in!"

Aunt Karen ushered them inside the warm house. As she spoke with Wanda, Richie took the time to gaze around his new home. Family portraits hung on the walls surrounding him along with wooden signs with cheesy quotes about happiness and family. Everything was perfect and spotless except for a few crooked picture frames. He flinched when Aunt Karen placed a warm hand on the small of his back and told him to take his shoes off. He glanced down at where the other shoes were aligned perfectly. Again with the shoes, Richie grumbled in his mind. Once he removed his shoes, he made sure to nudge his away from the others. His dirty shoes would look awkward beside theirs.

"Is there anything else I should know before you go?" Aunt Karen asked Wanda. The social worker shook her head, her bags rattling in her hands.

"Well, at least let me drive you to the station." Richie's aunt insisted, but Wanda was stubborn and politely declined.

"Please, let me call a taxi." Before Wanda could protest, Karen was already on the phone, dialing the number for a taxi. Wanda turned to Richie, dropping her bags.

"I guess this is where we part." She said softly. Richie felt like someone was squeezing his heart. He would miss Wanda. He didn't like her at first, but he would be lying if he said he hadn't got attached. She was like the big sister he never had, annoying and loveable at the same time.

"Yeah, I guess it is." Richie swallowed the lump in his throat. Wanda let a smile bloom on her face as she slowly pulled Richie into a hug.

"You're a strong young man, Richie. I know you can get through this. I believe you can. And don't think for a second that I'll forget about what you did for me on the bus." She whispered the words in his ears but they were loud in his head, echoing throughout his brain. The sound of a horn pulled Wanda out of the hug.

"Well, that's my ride." Wanda picked up her bags while Richie watched longingly. Before she could leave, Richie grasped her arm.

"Thanks. For Everything." Richie mumbled. And with one last smile, Wanda left Richie broken and alone in a perfect house that wasn't built for him.

"Richard, are you ready to meet the others?" Aunt Karen asked. She gave off mellow vibes which calmed Richie's nerves. He nodded reluctantly and followed her into the living room.


End file.
